


Precarious

by FuryFiction



Series: Thomas & Kocoum [7]
Category: Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryFiction/pseuds/FuryFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even on the hardest days, Kocoum always has something to look forward to when he returns home. </p><p>Or rather someone to look forward to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precarious

The days are becoming more physically straining for Kocoum.

He's not all that sure what's come over him; perhaps he is ageing faster than he anticipated, or his sudden lack of motivation has left him careless and out of shape. Or maybe he just doesn't care about anything anymore.

Whatever the reason, he’s finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything of great importance; whether it’s a hunt or a fishing trip or something else that involves intense focus – he just can't keep up with the others like he used to.

He tries not to allow it to eat away at him, as he slowly makes his way back to the village in one of the many canoes, the bow of the boat empty as it has been for the past few weeks. Some of the others have offered to lend him a few of their own catches, just for the sake of his reputation but he shrugs off their offers; everyone knows he hasn’t been himself lately and there’s little point in being dishonest about it.

He just wants to get home; they’ve been away hunting in the higher grounds for five long, dragging days and he craves for the familiar scent of his own bed, his children and especially of all, a certain red-headed lover.

He wonders if Thomas is beginning to think little of him due to his rapid decline in bringing food and gifts back home. Kocoum is not one to become paranoid but he's plagued with dread that Thomas might begin to tire of his newfound clumsiness. That he might look elsewhere for a lover more worthy of his time and love – or worse, he might decide to return back to that strange land he once called home, and take their two children with him. Those thoughts are enough to keep Kocoum lying awake at night, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he struggles to blot them out.

His friends tell him he’s overreacting. But where Thomas is concerned, Kocoum takes precautions. He hopes at least their sex life might be enough to keep the red-haired boy at his side, providing that hasn’t gone dry as well. He can’t really tell anymore; his mind tends to wander whenever he’s in Thomas’ arms now, fretting over something or another. It’s tough working your husband into an orgasm when you’re trying to figure out how _not_ to screw up the next hunting trip by treading too heavily and scaring away the catch.

It doesn’t help that John Smith insists on joining them on the hunt. He and Kocoum are on relatively close terms now — not quite friends, yet certainly not enemies — but there’s still something about the corn-haired man that rubs Kocoum up the wrong way and his presence can be extremely overbearing.

Smith has an irrefutable influence over Thomas, and the unquestionable respect the boy has for him is something Kocoum envies more than anything else in the world. He tries to ignore his paranoid mind but the thoughts catch up to him anyway; John has Pocahontas, but if he ever decided he wanted more, he wanted someone different, would Thomas refuse him?

Smith attempts to create conversation in the little native tongue he knows but it’s like talking to a stone wall. Kocoum usually at least gives some sort of signal that he’s listening; a grunt, a slight jerk of the head or the occasional mumble. But today he is silent, his only focus being the movement of the oar in his hand, the way it cuts into the water in slow motion, leaving ripples on the surface.

Kocoum is the silent type but this is a different silence. It’s pained, morbid and his fellow warriors can detect the bottled emotion hanging around him, threatening to seep out. He’ll never say anything, never voice his discomfort. He’s not like that. He just needs to get home. Though even the thought of that now churns uncertainty into his already twisted gut.

They arrive at the shore just before evening draws in and per usual most of the village is there to greet them; he hangs back while the others dismount their canoes, run to meet their wives and show off the treasures from their hunt; and John Smith who immediately catches Pocahontas in his arms and puts their mouths together in such a vulgar motion he is forced to turn his head away.

He doesn’t see Thomas at first and that same nauseous sensation creeps into his gut once again. He feels the hot tongues of embarrassment begin to wash over him and remains there like a sitting duck, wondering if there’s any chance of rowing away without anyone noticing, perhaps finding a private spot behind the creepers where he can just wallow by himself for a bit. What’s the point in going back if Thomas doesn’t care? Who in their right mind _would_ care for a warrior who has lost his passion? He’s a joke.

He doesn’t even realise his eyes have glassed over slightly until his vision restores itself and he sees that familiar dash of red hair, so much longer than it used to be, braided slightly at the side as Thomas steps past Nakoma and finally catches sight of him.

Kocoum is prepared for that look of disappointment. For those gentle brown eyes to scan the boat, see the lack of fish or meat and drop to stare at the grass. For those white cheeks to flush red with humiliation. And a half-hearted smile, just to make his husband feel better, when inside he is just sick of it all, sick of everything.

Kocoum steps out of the canoe and opens his mouth, though he’s not sure why; perhaps to apologise for turning into what he’s become. An embarrassment.

He doesn’t have time to utter a syllable. Because suddenly Thomas is running at him and both his slender arms are wrapped around his neck, the impact causing them both to tumble back into the shallowness of the water below.

Kocoum blinks rapidly in surprise as a chorus of laughs sound from the shore and it's only then that he realises Thomas is clinging to him like a monkey; his own arms quickly wrap around the boy, drawing him close with great care as the feeling of sickness in his gut is replaced with relief. They sit there in the water together, soaked to the skin, as Thomas places flustered kisses over every inch of Kocoum's face.

Cool lips meet the native’s ear and he whispers; ‘I missed you so much.’

That’s all he needs to hear. It’s all Kocoum needs to hear to realise how blatantly stupid he has been. To allow his own insecurities, his paranoia and anxiety that he usually keeps hidden away, to blot out common sense and lead him to assume that Thomas would ever contemplate leaving him. There's no mention of the lack of food or the absence of gifts. Thomas just wants _him_. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Kocoum forgets about everyone else and spends the next few minutes kissing every freckle on Thomas's nose while their fellow villagers gawp at this rare display of public affection from a warrior who usually has a face like a stone.

‘Better slow down there, Kocoum,’ Nakoma shouts over to them, shaking her head, ‘the way you’re going, you might leave bruises.’

‘Mm,’ Kocoum murmurs, kissing Thomas’s eyelid again before taking him in his arms like a bride and lifting them both out of the water.

Nothing else really matters now. Knowing that Thomas loves him, that he’s never going to leave, is all he’s really needed to know these past few weeks that he’s been pointlessly worrying. He carries his husband through the line of people, almost oblivious to the adoring stares they receive, this only thought being that of returning home, seeing his twins again and settling down for the night with the red-head nestled in his arms; something he had been missing the whole time he had been away.  

‘Who would have thought those two would be perfect for each other?’ John murmurs more to himself than anyone else as he watches the pair depart, before allowing Pocahontas to drag him off to God knows where to do God knows what.


End file.
